Eat, Love, Sisterhood
by The New Ace of Spies
Summary: Beatrice and Grace have a little sister time after the death of Hope and Arthur. For Troubador12's contest. I'm #3 and Category B.


**So this is for Troubador12's contest. I'm #3 and this is Category B.**

Dear little Beatrice,  
I'm saddened to inform you that Hope and dear Arthur died in a tragic accident. Can we have some sister time? I need you.  
Love,  
Grace.

Beatrice clutched the tear-stained letter she had gotten only yesterday. Hope was dead.

Now usually Beatrice hated children. She was the younger sister, the one who understood her sister's silly mistakes. She knew how her sister was a child inside a woman's body.

She understood that.

But Hope was a different case. Hope, unlike her mother, was not clue-obsessed. She cared, it's just she didn't wear goggles to the ambassador's party.

Hope was a mix of her mother, and her aunt. She cared about her appearence, and enjoyed things Grace wouldn't even imagine doing. Beatrice loved her, that's why she didn't have any children.

She was afraid they wouldn't be as interesting as Hope.

Beatrice sighed, as she watched her sister slip into the cafe.

Grace kissed her cheek on both sides.

"Bonjour madame," Grace spoke, in fluent French.

Beatrice rolled eyes. "Sister," she said quietly. "Please."

Grace slid into the booth.

"Grace. I-Is it true?" Beatrice asked. Memories flashed of deaths of her loved. First mother, then Fiske, Father, Hope.

Grace took a deep breath. "Beatrice, we are of the same blood, you wouldn't mind if I... I asked of a favor?"

Beatrice was shocked. Her sister never stuttered, she did. Her sister was fully authority, finishing a sentence first.

"Grace," Beatrice said, making a face. "This doesn't involve the Clues, does it?"

To tell you the truth, Beatrice was scared to death of the rumors involving the Clues. The power itself sounded great, but all the deaths around it was terrifying.

Grace dabbed her eyes with a hankerchief. "Partly," she admitted.

"Grace!" snapped Beatrice. Beatrice gasped. It was hard time for Grace, not the time to act rude. "I'm sorry!"

"Sister, I need you to take the kids under your wing."

"What kids?" asked Beatrice.

"You know, Hope's children."

Oh right. Something like Denny and Annie.

Beatrice recoiled. "Wait, what!?"

Grace looked up. "Beatrice, as you know, I have nearly found all the ingredients-"

"I don't care about the clues!" cried Beatrice.

"Very well," Grace said, calmly. "But what I tell you must never be passed on."

"Agreed," Beatrice said, her head high.

"I have set a path for someone to find the Clues."

"What!? What if it goes in the wrong hands?"

"And that path is for Amy and Dan, they will succeed."

"That is foolish!" Beatrice wrinkled her nose. "How do you know?"

"I have the feeling," Grace replied.

"So?" shrieked Beatrice. "You had a feeling that-that Fiske would be alive! But he wasn't. Feelings are nothing!"

Now she started to cry. Because of everything. Death was all around her.

"Trust me, Sister."

Beatrice shook her head. "I will not take care of those children! EVER!"

Grace sighed. "Beatrice, remember that day, I wore a dress for your favor, with no goggles?"

Beatrice gave a small smile. Oh yes, she remembered that.

"And you said, 'I owe you, Grace Cahill'. I want to use that debt now. Take care of them for me."

Beatrice looked away. "Why don't you do it?"

"You know why."

Beatrice sighed, defeated. "Fine."

-------------

"Grace?" Amy's small childlish voice said.

Grace looked up. "Yes dear?"

"Why didn't you adopt us? Beatrice is mean."

Grace glanced at the ceiling, away from the hand-drawn map of Africa. "There are reasons. Someday you'll understand."

"But why?" Amy insisted.

"Reasons dear."

"Your adventures," she guessed. "They're amazing."

Grace looked at her, then Dan, smiling. "I had many adventures, my dear, but they will be pale next to yours."

Miles away, Beatrice looked away from the direction of Grace's house.

**Anyway yay! My second. Sad or what? I still like the Alistair one better. Vote for me!**


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